


Bring Me to Life

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS Zombie/TWD AU. Emma Swan will do anything to get back to her loved ones in Storybrooke, even partner up with the devilishly handsome blue-eyed stranger she found under a pile of corpses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She found him under a pile of corpses.

Emma, Mary Margaret, Aurora, and Mulan had been on a raid, trying to find some more food in a local super market.  They’d returned empty-handed and found their camp slaughtered. 

Someone had clearly opened fire on the camp, catching them unaware.  The scene was carnage.  Their meager cache of supplies had been raided as well. 

As the four women grimly counted the dead and dealt with the fallen who had not been properly made harmless, Emma discovered a breather.

The blue-eyed man claimed to have been a metal-worker of some kind, but Emma could feel the lie in her bones.  She disarmed him, taking away an antique military cutlass; old, but well-cared for.  She guessed it was a family heirloom. 

She had to threaten to leave him alone and weaponless to get him to admit he knew who massacred the camp. 

“She said you had something she needed,” he said, his voice hard when he talked about her.  “I assumed she wanted to trade or perhaps try to join your ranks, but she just opened fire.”

He frowned and looked away.

“Why’d she let you live?” Mulan demanded.

“I hid,” he said with anger and shame in his voice.  “It was chaos.  I hid under the bodies of those who had already been killed. Pretended to be dead myself. Mercifully, the ruse worked.”

“So much for fortune favoring the brave,” Emma said.

His eyes flashed at her words.

“It was all I could do to survive,” he snapped.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Emma said.  “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.

“We should leave here in case the woman decides to come back,” Mulan said.

“We should start searching for a new campsite,” Mary Margaret said.  “We need to move away from here.  The blood will draw walkers.”

“I know a place,” the man said, “I can guide you—”

In a flash of motion, Emma pulled her belt knife and held it to the blue-eyed man’s neck.

“You’re not guiding us anywhere,” she said.

.

They tied the blue-eyed man to a tree.

“What’s this  _place_  you claim to know?” Mary Margaret asked.

“It’s a bunker,” he said with strained calm.  “Cora and I were going there before I realized how insane she was.”

“Won’t she just go ahead without you?” Aurora asked.

“She can’t,” he said.  “I didn’t give her the exact location.  I’m not a git.”

Mulan glared at him, lips pursed together.

“Why should we believe you?” she demanded.

“If  _blondie_  here—” he gestured with his head toward Emma “—truly has a gift for detecting lies, then she should know I’m telling the truth,” he growled.

Emma frowned.

“What’s your name?” she said, stepping forward.

“What’s yours?” he spat back.

“Emma Swan,” she said at once.

His nostrils flared as he considered his reply.

“Killian Jones,” he said finally, anger still coloring his voice.

“Tell me about the bunker,” she said in a reasonable tone.

“Untie me,” Killian retorted.

“If I like what you have to say, I will,” Emma said.

Killian licked his lips, his eyes measuring Emma and then darting around to the silent forest.

“It houses supplies,” he said.  “Food, weapons.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Mary Margaret said.

Killian looked at her, giving her a sardonic little smile.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Killian replied.

“How do you know about it?” Emma asked.

Killian’s eyes returned to Emma.  He hesitated before answering.

“It belonged to someone I knew,” he said.

“Who?” Emma asked.

“That’s hardly pertinent,” he hedged.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“No,” he said, enunciating clearly, raising his eyebrows.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest.

“Did you kill them?” she asked.

His sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his features was all the answer she needed.

Emma took two steps back and spun on her heel.

“Let’s go,” she said to the girls.

“Wait!” Killian called.  “Wait!”

“Why?” Emma asked, looking over her shoulder.

Killian licked his lips again.

“He was infected,” he said.

Emma turned to face him fully and cocked her head to the side, studying the blue-eyed man for a moment.

 “How many walkers have you killed?” she asked.

“Twenty-six,” Killian said, his expression pained.

“How many people have you killed?” Emma asked.

“Three,” Killian answered at once, his expression darkening further. 

He held Emma’s eyes.

“Why?” Emma asked, her voice dropping in volume.

“Two were infected,” he said, his voice breaking.  “One tried to kill me.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully.

She drew her knife and approached the tree. 

Killian watched her with wary eyes, his chest heaving and his throat and jaw twitching. 

She cut him free.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma frowned and watched the blue-eyed man—this Killian Jones—as they marched down a deserted back road.  She’d tied his wrists together in front of him, and she had his cutlass strapped across her back.  She walked behind him, her hand resting lightly on the butt of her pistol tucked into her jeans.  

Emma had a feeling about the blue-eyed man; one of those hunches she got sometimes as a bail bondsperson and then again as a sheriff that made the spot between her shoulder blades itch and the hair stand up on her neck.  It always meant the same thing: Something good or something bad.  

It was generally the latter.

They’d been walking for nearly two hours and the blue-eyed man hadn’t shut up.  He spoke in a low voice so as not to attract walkers, yammering on about inane observations and commentary on the hike.  Nothing of substance.  Nothing of value.  Just noise.

Emma figured he couldn’t stand the silence.  

Guilty men often prattled like that, in Emma’s experience, but so did some vics.

And who wasn’t both, nowadays?

Emma scanned the woods again before her eyes snapped back to Killian’s form.  He walked with an easy swagger; some inborn confidence that kept his back straight and his shoulders square, even with his arms tied.  His head moved constantly, looking left and right, up and down, constantly scanning, evaluating.  He looked at Emma over his shoulder every so often, his eyes holding hers for a long moment before he looked forward again.

Every time their eyes met, Emma felt that itch between her shoulders and a tightening in her chest.

“How do you know this bunker hasn’t already been raided?” Mary Margaret asked, and Emma startled at the higher voice.

“Because I knew the man who created it,” Killian said, glancing at Mary Margaret for a second before returning to his scanning.

“The man you killed,” Mulan said gruffly.

Emma watched his shoulders flinch at the words.  

“Aye,” Killian said with a heavy, weary voice, “the man I killed.”

They crunched down the gravel road for a few moments without conversation.  The quiet seemed eerie after the stream of chatter.

“So, you have a key?” Aurora asked, breaking the tense bubble of silence.

“Better,” Killian said, his voice returning to his bored, confident tone, “I have the code.”

Emma frowned.

“Code?” Emma asked in annoyance, “like to an electric lock?”

He gave her a tight, ugly smile over his shoulder.

“But the power’s been out for weeks,” Mark Margaret protested.

“The bunker generates its own power,” Killian said, looking up into the tree branches to their left.  “It’s all solar panels and geothermal.  Like I said, I knew the man.  He…  He planned for this kind of thing.”

Killian gestured vaguely with his tied hands as he said the last four words.

“What kind of person plans for this?” Mark Margaret said, mostly to herself.

A few more beats of silence, and then Killian sighed.

“I believe he had more the idea of a political uprising than walking corpses,” Killian said almost wistfully.  He’d clearly known the man well.  Probably knew him before the world had gone to hell.

“Ah,” Emma said, watching carefully for Killian’s reaction.  “A nut.”

Killian’s spine stiffened and Emma watched color rise up the backs of his ears.   He didn’t turn to face her, but she imagined he was scowling.

“Up ahead,” he said gruffly.  “We’ll find the bunker after we go down to the docks.”

They crested the hill overlooking the coast.  They stood in a tense group at the top of the hill, looking down at the sprawling docklands and meandering walkers.  A dozen ambulatory corpses shuffled about aimlessly.

“There’s nothing down there,” Mulan hissed.  “He’s just wasting our time.”

“The bunker isn’t on the docks,” Killian condescended.  ”Don’t be daft.”

“Let me guess,” Emma said in exasperation.  “It’s on an island?”

“Oh, yes,” Killian said with another sardonic smile.

“Great,” Emma grumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

They planned their approach to the docks carefully.  When Killian weighed in on the discussion, his points were well thought-out and strategic.  Emma found another layer added to the blue-eyed enigma.

“So,” Killian said with a small smile, “three of you lovelies will make a diversion while I escort the fourth across the water.” 

“We’re doing this together,” Mary Margaret protested.  

Emma sighed.

“Someone will have to make a diversion,” she said reluctantly.  “And three staying behind is safer than one or two.”

“Also leaves more room in the boat for supplies,” Killian added helpfully, still wearing a cocky little smirk.

They exchanged glances, all frowning and shifting their feet.  The women took a few steps away from Killian and spoke to each other in low voices.

“I’m the best-equipped to go,” Mulan said.

“You’re also the best-equipped to stay,” Mary Margaret said gently.

“It should be me,” Aurora said.

“You?” Mulan said incredulously.

“This is about us getting home to our loved ones,” Mary Margaret said.  “Why would you—”

“Because I have no loved ones,” Aurora said.  “If I fail, you can still go on.”

“It’s me,” Emma said resolutely. “I’m going, and I’m not going to fail.”

Mary Margaret put her hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“Emma…” she said.  
“It’s about getting back to Henry. I don’t care what I have to face,” Emma said.  She looked at Mary Margaret, surprised that she wasn’t interrupting her.  “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“Would it do any good?” Mary Margaret said.

“No,” Emma said.

“How much ammo do you have?” Mulan asked.

“Enough,” Emma said, refusing to admit out loud that her clip wasn’t even half full.

“How long should we wait?” Mary Margaret asked, chewing on her lip.

Emma heaved a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair.

“God only knows how far the island is,” she said.  “You’ve got food enough for three days.  If I’m not back by then, assume I’m dead.  Go on without me.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said, her face contorting as if she was in pain.

“No,” Emma said.  “You have to get back to David.  Tell Henry…”

Emma cut off, looking away.  She frowned at the gravel for a moment, blinking hard and taking a deep breath.  She didn’t look up or finish her sentence; she just turned and walked away from the women and toward the blue-eyed man.

His lips quirked up as he saw her.

“I was hoping it’d be you,” he murmured, biting his lip seductively.

“Just get on with it,” Emma snapped.

“My cutlass?” he asked.

Emma frowned at him, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms.

“I’m not walking in there with nothing but my good looks,” he protested.

Emma rolled her eyes, but she unstrapped the sword from her back.  She handed it to him, but didn’t let go when he tried to take it.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she said, meeting his gaze and narrowing her eyes.

He grinned.

“I would despair if you did,” he replied saucily.

Emma let go of the cutlass with an exasperated noise.

“Let’s go,” she said, turning and walking toward the edge of the woods.

.

Mulan, Aurora, and Mary Margaret created a diversion up the street.  They hot-wired a deserted car and revved the engine.  Emma heard the stereo system start and the voice of Raffi filled the air, singing about a baby whale.  The sound of the kid’s CD made Emma’s chest tight.  She’d played that album for Henry.  

Emma swallowed hard, trying to turn her fear for her son into resolve for the mission.  In the corner of her eye, she saw the blue-eyed man’s jaw clench.  He didn’t look like the type to have a kid, but looks could be deceiving.  

They waited until most of the shambling dead were distracted before carefully scrambling down the hill toward the dock.  They both ran quickly, crouched low, weapons ready.  Killian knew where to put his feet and how to hold himself.  Emma would bet her left shoe that he’d had some kind of training.  He didn’t really look like the military sort, but he kept surprising her.  His eyes constantly roved, scanning around them, calculating, assessing threats.  It almost made Emma want to trust him.  He looked like he could be a valuable ally—if he could be trusted.

Killian straightened up suddenly, his sword slicing out in a graceful arch as he swung it at a walker Emma hadn’t seen.  It had apparently been in or behind a delivery truck near the gate separating the road from the docks.

The creature dropped in two pieces, its head bouncing free of its shoulders.  

Killian hadn’t even broken his stride.  He flicked the blade with a neat little twist of his wrist, sending droplets of black blood to the ground.  He kept the cutlass drawn, holding it out to his side as he ran in his crouched position like a ninja in some old martial arts movie.

Emma would be lying if she said she wasn’t impressed.

When they arrived at the fence, Killian sheathed his sword and turned to face her.  He leaned his back against the chain links and made a step for her with his entwined hands.  As she put her foot in his hands and he boosted her up, Emma didn’t know if she should be amused at his show of chivalry or annoyed that he perhaps thought she couldn’t climb a fence.  Either way, she was distracted when she grabbed the top of the barrier, and she didn’t see the line of razor wire.  Emma hissed as she released the sharp metal, blood blossoming in her palm of her hand.  She carefully kicked herself over the fence, dropping to a crouch on the other side behind a small shed.

The chain links rustled, and then Killian was next to her, squatting quite close to her.  They were both hidden behind the shed.  

“Give me your hand,” he murmured.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Your hand.  It’s cut,” he said.  “Let me help you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma said, shaking her head.

“No, it’s not,” he said, taking her wrist between his warm, calloused fingers.    

“So now you’re going to be a gentleman?” Emma said dryly.

“Biters can smell blood,” he said levelly.  “And I’m always a gentleman.”

Holding her wrist, he pulled an old-fashioned flask out of his pocket and uncorked it with his teeth.  He dribbled amber liquid over her bloody palm, making her cringe in pain.

“Ow!” she hissed.  “What the hell is that?”

“It’s rum,” he said, meeting her eyes.  “And a bloody waste of it.”

He slipped the flask back into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief.  He continued to hold her wrist still with one hand as he tied the handkerchief around her palm with his other hand and his mouth.

Emma felt her pulse speed up a little.  There was something undeniably sexy about the way he pulled the knot tight with his teeth, but it was hardly the time or the place.  As soon as he released her, she rolled back on her heels and peeked around the side of the storage bin.  

“Are we stealing a boat?” Emma asked quietly.

“No,” he murmured from just behind her.  

Emma hadn’t heard him move, but she felt his breath on the left side of her neck.  Goosebumps erupted over her skin.

“You’ve got keys?” Emma whispered skeptically.

“No,” he murmured again, tickling her neck again with his breath.  “There’s a spare key under the bench.  Third slip.  See that small fishing boat?”

He gestured with his right hand, pointing down the docks.  His chest brushed against her back as he leaned forward.  

Emma fought the little shiver that rose in her at his touch.

“Yeah,” she said gruffly, “let’s go.”

She started to rise, but he tugged her back down by her belt loop.

“What?” she hissed, feeling color rise up her cheeks.

He leaned in, his eyes flicking to her mouth.  He did it slowly, giving her time to stop him, but she couldn’t find the willpower to do so.  Emma found herself staring at his lips as they descended on hers.

He kissed her quickly, hungrily, and Emma knew it would be a lie to say she didn’t respond.  She moved her mouth against his, drawing a happy little groan from his chest.  

He pulled back reluctantly, licking his lips as he looked at her with dilated eyes.  They were both breathing hard, like damn teenagers.

“For luck,” he murmured, his voice thick and deeper than before.

“Now you’re Princess Leia?” she sassed, her voice only shaking a little.

He grinned broadly at that.

“I prefer ‘dashing rapscallion,’” he said with a wink.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.  The spot between her shoulder blades itched again, making her self-conscious.  She looked away from him, taking a deep breath.

They rose at the same time, his hand still sitting lightly on her hip.  Both of their expressions became serious, and they turned toward the dock.

“One,” she said quietly, pulling her handgun out.

“Two,” he murmured, drawing his sword.

“Three,” they said together, darting around the shed.

He came forward on her left and then crossed behind her to be on her right so his sword arm was free.  Emma held her own weapon with both hands, keeping the barrel pointed down as she moved quickly along the dock.  She scanned her side, watching the backs of the walkers that were still moving toward the diversion vehicle.  The wind shifted, and one walker turned its head, looking directly at Emma.  It let out a moan and rotated to face her, raising its arms and shuffling her direction.

“Incoming,” she said gruffly, keeping her eyes on the walker.

Killian grunted in reply.  

Emma kept watch of their left flank, confident that Killian had their right.  They dashed down the docks, their boots thudding loudly on the wooden slats.  The sound drew a few more walkers, making them turn and refocus on the closer prey.  Emma kicked over a display of rental fishing rods and a cart full of buoys and nets behind them, hoping it would slow the shambling dead.

They arrived at the boat with a fair lead on their moaning pursuers.  Killian hopped on board first, vaulting over the railing easily.  He scanned the deck, looking for hidden enemies.  Emma scrambled on board behind him, making her own quick assessment of the  deck.  Then she turned and started detaching the boat from its moorings.  

The knots tying the boat in place had swollen.  They were too tight to slip easily.  Emma was about to ask Killian to cut them free when she heard him curse loudly from behind her.

“What?” she said, not looking back.

“The key isn’t in the tool box,” he said in a strained voice.  “He must have moved it.”

Emma let out her own muttered curse.  She took a steadying breath and ran through their options in her head.  Boats and cars couldn’t be that different, could they?

“Are there screwdrivers?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the dock.  The walkers were filtering closer, stumbling along the wooden planks.

“Aye,” Killian said with confusion in his voice.  “What good are they?”

“Take my place,” Emma said with confidence.  “I’ll start the boat.”

There was a beat of silence, and she could all but imagine him raising an eyebrow.

The walkers on the dock shuffled forward, climbing clumsily over the makeshift barricade of rods, buoys, and nets.  They were just a few yards away.

“ _Now_ ,” Emma said, shooting a glance over her shoulder at him.

Killian crossed the deck quickly, stepping next to Emma and reaching for her gun.  She only hesitated for a second before she gave it to him.  She opened her mouth to tell him it was low on ammo, but he was already popping the clip out to check for himself.  He slapped the clip back in place and clicked the safety off with a precise, practised motion.  Emma blinked at him.

He met her inquisitive look and raised an eyebrow.

Emma looked away immediately, jogging the few steps to the pilot’s area under the canopy.  She threw open the toolbox, grabbing the first screwdriver she saw, and a hammer.  She made quick work of the steering column, treating it just as she would a car, and the boat’s engine thankfully roared into life.

The sound frenzied the walkers, drawing the one’s who’d previously been lured by the distant car.  Emma stared blankly at the ship’s console for a moment.  There were toggles and buttons, a gear shift, and the wheel itself, but Emma had never piloted a watercraft before.  She debated giving it a go, but decided that admitting ignorance was better than accidental sabotage.

She took another steadying breath.

“I don’t know how to drive it!” Emma yelled, looking across at the dark-haired man.  

He had one foot up on the bench, leaning forward as the first walkers pulled themselves up the sides of the boat.  He fended them off with his cutlass in his right hand and her gun in his left.  He hadn’t fired, and she was grateful that he seemed just as interested in preserving ammo as she did.

“Switch places!” Killian yelled back, glancing at her over his shoulder.

He kicked a walker in the chest, throwing it into its fellows on the dock.  Two more were trying to climb into the boat, and at least ten were right behind them, surging forward as best they could.

Emma sprinted to the railing, hammer still in hand.  She brought it down hard on the head of the nearest walker, caving in its rotted head with a sickening crunch.  It dropped, its body sliding off the side of the boat.  Emma turned to the other walker, which had successfully climbed into the boat and was standing up.  She kicked it hard, making it stumble backward.  

Emma raised her hammer to end the corpse’s existence, but the deck under her feet suddenly  lurched as the boat began to move.  Emma stumbled, pitching hard toward the walker.  She lost her grip on the hammer, and it bounced off the bench and over the side of the boat into the water.  Emma cursed again, taking a step back, but the walker grabbed her arm, and Emma couldn’t seem to shake herself free.

Breathing hard, she tried to hold the thing’s torso away from her as best she could, but she could feel her balance slipping as she leaned further back.  Weaponless, and with the deck beneath her shifting wildly, Emma let out a strangled yell of defiance.  She pushed as hard as she could, but the abomination’s grip was too tight.  It drew her arm toward it’s gnashing, blood-stained teeth.   

Suddenly, the crack of gunfire exploded in Emma’s ears, and a blossom of red appeared on the walker’s forehead.  The creature went slack, and Emma gratefully threw it overboard.

She sank to her knees, head pounding, ears deafened by the gunshot.  She couldn’t even hear the engine of the boat over the ringing in her ears.  She watched with wild relief as the dock slowly grew smaller and more distant.  The moaning corpses standing on the salt-stained wood still reached for them, and several were pushed into the ocean by their enthusiastic brethren.

Emma took the time to get her breathing under control and let her ears stop ringing.  When she stood up, brushing herself off, she turned to find the blue-eyed man watching her, arms crossed as he leaned against the pillar that held up the canopy over the pilot’s seat.  He looked completely at ease, like he belonged on a ship, but something was tugging that spot between Emma’s shoulders again.

Emma let her eyes measure the man from the bottom of his military-style boots to the top of his wind-blown hair.  Slowly, Emma realized that Killian had her gun in addition to his sword—she could see the butt of it jutting up out of the front of his dark denim jeans—and he knew how to pilot the boat, while Emma didn’t.

She was basically at his mercy.

The man seemed to know what she was thinking.  As she felt an icy finger of fear sweep down her spine, Killian’s lips spread slowly into a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma scrambled to her feet as the blue-eyed man sauntered toward her across the deck of the boat.  His eyes roved over her as she did so, and his lips were still quirked up into that disconcerting grin.  

“My gun?” she said shakily, trying to project confidence despite the fact that she felt she had no control over the situation at all.  

He stopped just a few feet from her, and licked his lips.  The boat rocked gently beneath them, sailing itself across the open water.  Killian slowly wrapped his hand around the butt of her gun tucked into the front of his jeans, and withdrew it, looking it over carefully.  He sighted it off to Emma’s right, and then spun it so that he was holding the barrel and the grip was facing Emma.  He offered it to her.

Emma grabbed the gun gratefully, but as she’d done with his cutlass, he didn’t let go of her weapon right away.  He took a step closer to her, leaning in over their overlapping hands, bringing them closer to each other, the gun almost touching his chest.

“Try something new, darling,” he murmured, “it’s called ‘trust.’”

He held her eyes for another beat before releasing the gun, which was pointing directly at his own heart.  Emma almost dropped the weapon.  Her heart was thudding in her chest, and that damn spot between her shoulder blades was on fire.  

Killian continued to watch her for another few seconds before he turned away, as if to drive his point about trust even further home.  He walked casually back to the pilot’s chair and sat down lazily, sprawling across it, leaning on the railing, and looking as though he were just out for a relaxing weekend of sailing.

Emma compulsively checked over her gun, popping out the clip and inspecting the weapon.  She was down one round (which she couldn’t regret, since it’d saved her life), but otherwise the piece was in perfect working order.

Emma drew a deep breath and moved to sit on the bench on the opposite side of the boat from Killian.  She tried to recline as he did, but she was still too tense.  

“How long?” she asked, raising her voice over the rush of the water.

When he looked at her, his expression was surprised, as if he’d forgotten she was there.  Perhaps he’d been lost in his thoughts, too.

“We’ll be there before sundown,” he said, not quite as loudly.  The ocean and the roar of the engine almost swallowed his words.

Emma nodded.  Looking at the sky, Emma calculated that the sun would set in a couple of hours.  She turned to Killian again, but he was frowning off into the distance, his jaw twitching at some unpleasant thought in his head.  Emma let him brood, watching the water, instead.  They were far enough from shore that she could pretend that everything was fine for a moment.  She still didn’t trust the blue-eyed man, but maybe she could relax for a minute while he was distracted.  Emma stretched out on the bench along the railing.  The thin, plastic-covered cushion was old and cracked, but it was more forgiving than many of the places Emma had slept since the world went to hell.  Lying on her back, Emma draped one arm over her face and  gripped the butt of her gun with her other hand.  She let the sound of the water and the boat lull her to sleep.       

.

Emma opened her eyes to a bright orange sky streaked with pinks and purple.  Wispy clouds cast the setting sun’s rays across the bowl of the atmosphere in sprays and swirls of color.  Emma felt a warm hand on her shoulder.  A handsome face with messy dark hair and striking blue eyes came into her vision, and Emma took a moment to remember where she was.

“We’ve arrived,” Killian said in a low voice.  His face was tense, the tightness around his mouth a clear indication of his discomfort.

Emma sat up, looking around.  The boat was still in open water, rocking gently off the shore of a decent-sized island boasting a wide expanse of forest.  The boat’s engine was idling, making a low, rattling purr.  

“Why aren’t we docked?” Emma asked, her eyes darting between Killian’s handsome backlit form and the little pier jutting out from the island.

“I thought we might wait a bit and see if anything comes out to meet us,” he said.  “The island was always popular with hikers and campers.  It might not be empty.”

Emma nodded.

“So, leave the engine running and see if anything shows up?” Emma suggested, meeting his gaze.

He made a face, frowning and tilting his head down, casting it in shadow.

“What?” she asked.

“We’re low on fuel,” he said.

For some reason, his use of “we” set the spot between her shoulderblades itching again.

“Okay,” she said.  “Why is it still running now, then?”

He flashed her a brief smile.

“In case there are living people on the island,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, realising he’d left the engine running so they could make a quick getaway.  

“They’ve had long enough to notice us, I think,” he said.  “If there’s anyone there.”

He strode across to the console and killed the engine, then he returned to sit down next to her on the bench.

“There aren’t any other boats,” Emma said.  

“No,” he said casually, “but canoes and rafts can easily be pulled ashore and concealed.  People could be living here.  The woods have some small game, though there’s not much fresh water on the isle.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Emma asked.

“I think we should stay here for the next hour or so,” he said.  “That would give enough time for any biters on the island to make their way to the shore.  Once it’s full dark, we can disembark and head to the bunker.”

“In the dark?” Emma asked skeptically.

“Aye,” he said.  “I know this island like the back of my hand.  I can guide us in the dark.”

Emma fidgeted.  

“I visited this island every summer from the time I was nine,” he continued, reading Emma’s stress.  “I know my way to the cabin.”

Emma could feel his confidence in her bones.  He believed what he was saying.

And what choice did she have?  Stay on the boat overnight?  

Once more, he seemed to guess her thoughts.  He cocked an eyebrow in amusement.  

“There’s a store coming in,” he said, gesturing to the clouds on the horizon.  “This deck will be a rather unpleasant location in a few hours.”

Emma heaved a sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” she said, frowning.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the railing, keeping her eyes on the beach.  She could feel Killian’s eyes on her.  It seemed like he wanted to talk, but he was waiting for her to initiate the conversation.

“So, the guy who built this bunker,” Emma said.  “You and he were close?”

“Aye,” he admitted.

Emma chewed on her lip, lining up the pieces in her mind: the knowledge about the boat, visiting the island as a child.  Suddenly everything clicked.

“He was family,” she said in a huff of understanding. “Your… brother?”

“Aye,” he said again with a sigh.

“What happened?” Emma asked.

Killian’s features hardened, and Emma thought that he wouldn’t answer, but then he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back.  He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, eyes closed.  When he opened them, he met her gaze, his expression stoic.

“He got bit,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.  “He didn’t believe me that the biters were dead already.  He thought it was some disease.  Government testing or some nonsense.  He took a cocktail of antibiotics and swore he’d be fine in a matter of days.”

“And then he turned?” Emma guessed.

“Aye,” Killian whispered, barely audible over the lapping water.  

“But you didn’t kill him, then,” Emma protested.  “This… plague did.”

Killian shook his head almost violently.

“No, he let himself be bitten,” Killian said angrily, meeting her gaze.  His eyes were full of anguish.  “He was trying to prove a point to me.  It wouldn’t have happened if I…”

His words drifted off, lost on the breeze.

“If you hadn’t tried to make him see the truth?” Emma said gently.

Killian frowned and turned to look out over the water again.

“Doesn’t sound like the brightest guy,” Emma said lightly after a moment.

“He was a sack-headed, stubborn arse,” Killian huffed, then his voice softened, “but he was my brother.”

Emma nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He made a noncommittal noise and turned away again.

Emma felt compelled to speak, like she’d upset some careful balance.

“Graham, my…” she began.  She stopped and frowned.  “Well, I guess he wasn’t really myanything, but there was potential there…  I’d barely known him a year.  We didn’t get a chance…  He died in my arms.  I had to…”

She drew a ragged breath, fighting back the sob that rose in her chest.  She cleared her throat before she continued.

“Well, he was kind of a stubborn ass, too,” she said.  “He was trying to protect us.”

Killian made no reply at first, and Emma let the silence build.  Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he had more to say.

“My—” Killian trailed off, his brow wrinkling as he sought a word.  “My lover got bit.”

Emma waited as he took his time choosing his phrasings.

“We’d been travelling together for near a month,” he said, “and we happened to find her ex-husband, dead already, but still chasing her—” he gave a dark chuckle, but then his face went slack.  “—and she hesitated.”

He shook his head, closing his eyes as if trying to block out the image.

“He was on her in a second,” he said in a hoarse whisper.  “And I was too slow.”

The silence stretched out between them again.  Emma waited.

“She died in my arms,” he said, “and I… made her safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered.

“Aye, but that’s not it, you see,” he said in a dark, self-deprecating tone.  “Her son—their son—saw the whole sordid tableau.”

He looked up finally and met her gaze.  In the growing twilight, the shadows below his eyes seemed longer, deeper.  Emma felt herself drawn into the blue-black vortex of his eyes.

“He watched me murder his parents,” Killian said.

“But you didn’t—” Emma started to protest.

“You tell that to a fourteen-year-old-boy,” Killian said, still meeting her eyes.  He shook his head again.  “He raged against me like a hurricane, Bae did.  He wanted me dead, then and there.  His voice drew more biters, but he didn’t care.  I tried to calm him, but he drew his weapon—a fireman’s axe we’d found some days prior.  He swung it at me, ignoring the biters around us.”

Killian paused again, shaking his head as he took a few deep breaths.

“He wouldn’t stop screaming,” Killian said, lost in the memory.  “It seemed he wanted both of us to die.  He named me a coward, and I… I struck him.  He landed on his arse, glaring at me with all the fury well-owing to him.  

“I killed a few of the biters, but then Bae was on his feet, swinging at me again with the bloody axe, still ignoring the biters.  I tried again to talk sense into him, but he wouldn’t listen… So I ran.  I left a child in the midst of the walking dead and ran to save my own sorry arse.  His screams followed me.  They always will.”  

Emma couldn’t help but think of Henry then.

“My son’s eleven,” she said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

He grunted, his face hard to read in the falling dark.

They sat in silence for another minute, then Killian stood up.

Emma raised an eyebrow, unsure if he could see her expression in the poor light.

“It’s been long enough,” he said gruffly, turning away from Emma.  “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Emma said softly, rising to follow the enigmatic blue-eyed man.


	5. Chapter 5

They restarted the boat’s engine and brought it to the little pier, weighing anchor and tying the boat to the post at the edge of the dock. Killian disembarked first, vaulting over the railing to land lightly on the pier.  He held out his hands to her.  

She almost denied him, but vaulting with her injured hand would have been foolish, so Emma threw her legs over the bar and let him help her down.  She put her hands on his shoulders as he gripped her hips and lowered her gently to her feet.  His hands were warm on her waist, and he held on to her once her boots were on the pier.  Emma felt her pulse speed up as she looked into his blue eyes.  The falling darkness around them made the moment feel strangely intimate.  He held her gaze, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of her jeans.  

Emma’s breath hitched, and she forced herself to take a step back, turning away from him, and scanning the beach.  With her back to him, she could breathe again, but she could feel his hot gaze on the back of her neck, the skin there and in that damn spot between her shoulderblades tinging so intensely she thought it would drive her mad.  She rolled her neck and shrugged her shoulders, willing the skin to stop itching.  She reluctantly looked behind her at the infuriating blue-eyed man and found his standing exactly where he had been, watching her.  His face was in shadows, but she could see the glint of his eyes, and her imagination was happy to supply a wide variety of emotions and motivations he might have as he looked at her, ranging from lust to concern to malintent.  

“Are we going, or not?” she said gruffly, tossing her hair over her shoulder and shifting her weight.

He chuckled darkly.

“Aye,” he said as he strode forward, brushing her as he walked past her along the dock, leaving a trail of fire on her skin.  “This way.”

Emma took a deep breath and fell into step behind him, her hand resting lightly on the butt of her gun.

Killian left his sword in its sheath and walked with a casual, confident air.  His head continued to swing left and right, as it had done on the mainland, and Emma was once more struck by how strong of an ally he could be, if he was trustable.

“Have you ever been out on the islands?” he asked, glancing at her over her shoulder and making her jump.

“No,” she replied quickly.  “But I haven’t lived in Maine long.”

“Oh?” he said, giving her the option of elaborating.

Emma said nothing for several steps, then she felt a strange desire to keep the conversation going.

“I was in Boston less than a year ago,” she said in a huff of nervous breath.  

“What brought you north?” Killian asked, meeting her eyes again with a turn of his head.  Emma realized she was walking closer to his side than behind him as she’d originally planned.

“Henry—my kid,” she said.  

“How did he bring you to Maine?” he asked with interest.

“It’s complicated,” Emma said.  “He… I put him up for adoption when he was born.  He found me last year; showed up on my doorstep.  I took him home to his adoptive mother, and then I stuck around to make sure he was doing okay… I ended up staying for good.”

Killian was nodding thoughtfully.

“Are you a local?” Emma said before she could stop herself.  She bit her lip and cursed herself a fool at the stupid question.  How could he be a local with an accent like he had?

He laughed.

“No,” he said, grinning at her.  “But I’ve been all up and down these coasts since I was a lad.  How did you end up separated from your son?”

“When things started to go screwy, Mary Margaret, Graham, and I went back to Boston to find out what was going on.  We’d heard on the radio about an information center.  When we arrived in Boston, we got caught in a quarantine zone before the government collapsed.  Then we were stuck in Massachusetts for seven weeks.  That’s where we met Aurora, Mulan, and the rest…  They were all refugees, stranded together at this old high school where the first responders had sent us.  We decided to set out on our own when the supplies stopped coming.”

Emma paused and frowned.

“Well,” she continued, “Mary Margaret and I decided to set out.  Not many of the others were interested in leaving, and Graham was already…”

She trailed off and gave herself a little shake.

“Your friend, Mary Margaret,” he said.  “I assume she has family in Maine as well?”

“New husband,” Emma said.

Killian made a “hmm” noise.

They tromped along a game trail for another minute in silence.

“Why do you assume they’ll be safe?” Killian asked.  His tone wasn’t condescending, merely curious.

“Stor—the town they live in is remote.  Isolated,” Emma said as they began to move uphill into the more wooded part of the island.  “It’s self-sufficient and defensible.  I think there’s a good chance they made it through the chaos.  And… Well, Henry’s the only family I’ve got, so, I need to at least try.”

Killian was nodding again.

“And the lad’s father, is he waiting for you, too?” he asked.

“What? No,” Emma said.  “He’s been out of the picture for a long time; since before Henry was born, actually.  He doesn’t even know…”

She trailed off, shaking her head and focusing on the ground in front of her feet.

“Your choice, or his?” Killian asked.

His voice was so warm and sympathetic.  Emma felt strangely comfortable telling him details she’d normally keep to herself.

“His,” she said with a sigh.  “He… He conned me and set me up to take the fall for him.  Henry was born while I was in prison.”

Killian made a noise of unpleasant surprise.

“That’s hardly good form on his part,” he said, holding a branch for Emma to walk under.

“He didn’t know I was pregnant,” Emma said.  “I didn’t know until after I was incarcerated.”

“Still,” Killian said.  “Bad form.”

“Yeah,” Emma said.  “I suppose it was.”

They tromped along in silence for another minute.

“He was your first, then?” Killian said, catching her eye as he helped her over a large fallen log.  “Your first love?”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she met Killian’s eyes.  Their faces were inches apart, fingers of one hand entwined, his other hand was on her hip again, and hers was on his bicep.  His gaze was so penetrating.  It was as though he could read her like an open book.

She stared at him with her mouth open for a moment.  

“Yes,” she breathed finally.

As she spoke the word, his gaze dipped to her mouth and he licked his lips.

“You must have been very young,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again.

“S-seventeen,” she said shakily.  

“Very bad form,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, “taking advantage of someone so young.”

Emma made no reply, struck dumb by his sincerity and the sensual undercurrents of his voice.  She was staring at his mouth again, which wasn’t surprising considering how often he licked his lips.

He took the tiniest step forward, invading her personal space.  

Emma could feel the heat radiating off his body and smell his spicy, musky aroma.  She started to sway forward, her body responding to his in a way that was pure instinct.  She slid her hand up his bicep, and his grip on her hip tightened as he drew her toward him.

And then lightning flashed, turning everything white for a split second.  Killian’s face was illuminated and seared into Emma’s vision, his expression of longing haunting her even in the darkness after the flash and behind her eyes when she closed them.

The boom of thunder followed almost immediately, loud and earth-shaking.  Killian and Emma both jumped, breaking contact with each other, but staying near.

The lightning preceded the thunder by only a heartbeat, intimating the nearness of the storm.  As if to drive the point further home, the sky opened suddenly, and icy rain began to fall, chilling Emma’s scalp and trickling down the back of her neck inside her red leather jacket.

Killian let out a dark little chuckle.

“This way,” he said with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.  He took her hand again and led her through the woods.

The ground beneath them grew unstable rapidly, and water ran in rivulets, carrying little sticks and leaves, filling dips and covering roots.   Killian and Emma both stumbled frequently, and each ended up with a good amount of mud on their hands, faces, and clothes.  The pouring rain slicked it away, only to be replaced almost immediately by more.

Emma was relieved when they broke into a clearing and found a squat cinder block building in the center of a wide area that had been cleared of trees and surrounded by a tall chain link fence.  A large array of solar panels took up the southern side of the clearing, and some strangely shaped structures were arranged around the house that Emma decided not to worry about in the middle of the raining night.  

As they approached the fence, Killian stripped off his motorcycle jacket and flipped it over the razor wire that capped the fence.  He braced himself to boost her over, and Emma took the help easily, putting her foot in his hands and letting him hoist her up.  She wriggled over his jacket awkwardly and slid down the other side of the fence in a graceless heap.  When she stood up, she immediately slipped and landed in the mud again, cursing.  

The fence jangled, and then Killian was beside her.  He gave his hopelessly ruined jacket one last look before pulling Emma to her feet.  They clung to each other as they sloshed across the squelching peat to the building.  

The door was sheltered by a small overhang, and Emma stood under it, glad to be out of the rain, even if she was filthy and shivering.  She watched as Killian flipped back a little panel near the door and punched in a code.  The panel emitted a sharp beep and Emma heard the deadbolt disengaging.  
Killian pulled the door open and they gratefully entered, pulling the door shut behind them and reengaging the locks.  

It was dark inside, and Emma stood dripping near the door as she tried to let her eyes adjust.  She heard Killian stumble and squeak as he moved away from the door, his wet boots singing out sharply against the hard floor.  He knocked something over and cursed, and then he rustled through a drawer or basket before making a pleased little exclamation and bathing Emma in the beam of a flashlight.  

He crossed the room to her and took her hand again.

“Here,” he said, his voice hushed and almost conspiratorial, “let’s make use of the storm.  There’s a shower here that’s fed by filtered rain water.  It won’t be hot, but it will be clean, and the reservoir will refill immediately.”

Emma out a little groan of anticipation.

“I haven’t had a shower in months,” she said.  She was already stripping off her jacket.

They both removed their boots, throwing them near the door.  Killian took Emma’s jacket and tossed it somewhere in the darkness before he set down the flashlight with it’s beam pointing across the room at the doorway to the little bathroom.

They stripped off muddy, wet clothes in the near-blackness, and Emma couldn’t care that she was going to be naked with a stranger.  It was dark, and she was freezing, and there was the promise of soon being clean, which was too delicious a prospect to pass up.

A hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and Killian let out a muffled grunt at encountering her bare skin.  He picked up the flashlight again, keeping it aimed it in the direction of the tiny bathroom, and he guided Emma that way.  

In the washroom, Killian stepped ahead of Emma.  the light from the electric torch bounced off the shiny tiles and revealed the outline of his sleek flank to her, from his broad, muscled shoulders to the sinfully perfect curve of his posterior.  He looked like something out of a movie or an art gallery in the stark light, his form enticingly displayed and concealed by light and shadow.

In the shower stall, Killian twisted the valve to open the flow of water from above, then he stepped back, setting the flashlight down on the counter and switching it off.  

“After you,” he murmured, his voice bouncing in the confined space and seeming to come at her from everywhere.

Emma gratefully stepped forward, reaching out to feel the spray of water before stepping under it.  It wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold, either, and Emma let out a moan of pure pleasure at the feel of it cascading down her body.  

She heard Killian’s sharp intake of breath, and then he moved, stepping into the stall beside her.  He brushed her shoulder again, and she stepped back, letting him move into the spray.  His grateful groan of indulgence shot heat straight through Emma’s body.  She heard him splashing, and then he reached for her again, still keeping his hands level with her shoulder.

“Give me your hand,” he said huskily, his thumb brushing over her naked skin, making it burn beneath his touch.

Emma complied immediately, setting her hand on top of his on her shoulder.  He drew her hand toward him and wrapped her fingers around something hard and slippery.  She explored it with curiosity before her brain identified the bar of soap.  

“Oh, god,” she moaned, pulling the bar greedily to her body and beginning to scrub it against her skin, creating a slick, clean-smelling lather.  She worked the bar of soap over every inch of her skin, making each pore and nerve tingle at the sensation.  

“Is there shampoo?” she asked throatily, her tone making her wrecked enjoyment and longing obvious.

“Aye,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

Emma moaned again, reaching for him in the darkness to give him back the soap.  Her fingers found his chest, and she couldn’t stop herself from flattening her hand against his skin, feeling the gentle scratch of his chest hair against her palm.  

He groaned again, and his hands covered hers at once, holding them tight to his chest for a moment before he slipped the soap out of her grasp and wrapped her fingers around a small bottle.

Emma flipped the cap back and squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her palm.  She recapped the bottle and set it clumsily in the small alcove she’d seen on the side of the shower stall.  She worked the shampoo between her hands for a moment, drawing out the anticipation before she slid her fingers into her hair.

She let out another indecent moan, and she dimly heard Killian’s answering growl, but she was lost in the blissful experience of working shampoo through her wet locks.  She massaged her fingers against the skin of her scalp, scratching and kneading, her eyes closed tight in exquisite pleasure.  She drew out the experience, knowing that she might never again have the chance to do something as decadent and intoxicating as wash her hair.

When her fingers were pruned beyond reason and her entire scalp was tingling almost painfully, Emma reopened herself to the world outside her own gratification.  The first thing she noticed was Killian’s heavy breathing, perfectly in time with hers.

“I need to rinse,” Emma murmured, her voice coming out throaty and thick.

He grunted again, and then took a deep breath.

“Wait,” he said, his voice desperate and wrecked.  “Can I…  May I touch you?”

Emma inhaled sharply, feeling her body give its instant, primal consent.  Her brain wrestled with her desire, and she stood, quivering, unable to answer.

“I, I won’t…” he stammered when she made no reply.  She heard what sounded like him slapping his hand against his head.  “Forget it, neverm—”

She cut him off by pressing her shampoo-covered hands to his chest, running her fingers along his skin and grazing him with her nails.

His groan sent sparks straight to Emma’s core.

His hands landed on her shoulders, feather-light and shaking.  He slid his fingers down her arms, slipping easily along her soapy skin before caressing back to her shoulders and up her neck.  He ran his fingers higher, into her hair, tangling them in it and tugging gently as he made small, intoxicating noises of frustration and pleasure.

Emma took a small step toward him so she could reach higher, exploring his shoulders under the spray of luke-warm water.  It felt nice, but Emma wanted what Killian was experiencing: the slip of well-lathered skin under her fingers.  She wrapped her hands around his biceps and tugged on him as she took a step back, drawing him out from under the spray.  With one hand, she reached for the shampoo, but Killian seemed to understand her intentions, and he placed the bar of soap in her hands again.  She hummed in appreciation and then began lathering his chest as he slid his fingers down her back.

He found the hollows under her shoulder blades and ran the pads of his fingers along the valley there, applying just the right amount of pressure.  Emma groaned appreciatively and let the soap fall to the floor.  She pressed her thumbs into the tops of his pectoral muscles, just below his collar bones, and he let out a sigh of pleasure.  She worked her way down his ribs and around to his back, digging her fingers into the tense muscles of his lower back, making him groan.

His hands glided over her back, her arms, her ribs, her stomach, and grazed along the bones of her hips.  He clearly desired more, but was restraining himself in quite a gentlemanly fashion.  Emma knew that he wanted her to be in control of what happened.  She took another tiny step closer to him, bringing her hands to his chest again, and she deliberately flicked her thumb over one of his nipples.  His fingers instantly tightened on her hip, and she felt him start to pull her closer before he stopped himself, gasping and making a sound that was almost a whimper.

Emma dragged her fingers down Killian’s ribs again, sliding around to his lower back and then to his hips.  She closed the space between them, making them both moan, and reached down to grab his ass, loving the feel of the curved flesh against her palms.  They each made small, experimental movements against the other’s skin, shifting and rubbing themselves together.  Emma enjoyed the way Killian’s erection dug into her stomach, jumping and throbbing against her.

Killian grabbed Emma’s ass, kneading her flesh before sliding his hands up her back again to crush her tightly to him.  Emma pressed her cheek to his furred chest, smelling the soap, the shampoo, and the musk of her own sex.

They just held each other for a moment, each reveling in the feeling of being whole and safe andalive.  Their nakedness seemed right, as though they were the last man and woman on earth, forging a new Eden.    The moment lengthened, becoming heavy, and Emma knew that she was still in control of how far things went.  It made her feel powerful and free, more confident than she’d felt in months.  She wanted to carve out that moment like a precious stone, polish it and shape it so she could keep it forever, a shining reminder of how something beautiful could be found in the midst of misery, darkness, and pain.

Making her decision, Emma drew back her upper body from Killian’s just enough to drag her aching nipples across his chest, moaning at the sensation.  Killian answered her with a moan of his own, and then his hands slid tentatively around her ribs, his thumbs brushing questioningly on the sides of her breasts.

“Yes,” she whispered, her chest heaving.  She clung to Killian’s hips as he slid his fingers over her breasts, starting with feather-light touches that slowly became kneading, tugging caresses.  She cried out when he expertly rolled one of her nipples between his fingers, pinching it with the perfect amount of pressure.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she spun in his arms, pressing her back to him, making him groan in pleasure.  She rose to stand on just the balls of her feet, aligning their hips.  Killian’s hands closed around her breasts, squeezing them as she leaned forward to press her palms against the tiles.

As Killian pinched and tugged on her nipples, Emma rubbed her slippery ass against his cock, trapping it’s hot length in the cleft between her cheeks.  His hips stuttered against hers, and he ground against her, making her cry out again.  She lifted herself up higher as he obligingly bent his knees, and she moaned obscenely when his shaft touched her aching pussy.

One of Killian’s hands slid quickly down her stomach, ghosting over her curls before stopping.  He pressed his cheek to the back of her neck and made a surprisingly articulate whining noise.  She could feel the question in the sound.

“Yes,” she moaned, and he obligingly moved his hand, his fingers slipping easily between her folds and quickly finding her clit.  She cried out yet again, and he began rubbing rough circles around her sensitive nub, his hips stuttering against hers as he thrust his cock against her ass.

Emma arched her back, straightening her arms to lean her head back against Killian’s shoulder.  He tweaked her nipple hard, making her gasp, and she writhed against him, pushing back against his body with all her strength.  His fingers in her sex were almost brutal, flicking across her most tender of nerves in quick, tight circles.  Emma’s ears were ringing and the lack of vision seemed to make every touch feel more intense.

Killian nuzzled his scruff-covered chin against Emma’s neck and sucked her earlobe into his mouth despite the shampoo that surely coated it.  He bit down on it and then flicked his tongue into the space behind her ear, making her imagine what it would feel like to have his mouth working her clit in place of his fingers.

She moaned loudly, her breathing reduced to pants and gasps.

“Come for me,” he murmured directly into her ear, his voice a decadent cross between a whisper and a growl, laced with desperation and greedy lust.

Emma obeyed him almost immediately, her body giving over to the crashing wave of pleasure that he’d kindled inside her.

She slumped forward against the tiles, but Killian caught her by her hip.  His fingers on her core disappeared, and then she felt and heard him take himself in hand.  His body shook behind hers as he jacked himself off, the head of his cock bumping and brushing her with his jerky movements.  It took only a few seconds before she felt his hot come shoot across her back.  He grunted as he spilled himself against her skin and then let out a long groan of pleasure.

Panting, he pulled her against him, stumbling back into the spray of the shower as he spun her in his arms so she faced him once more.  He crushed her to his chest again, his whole body shaking as the water sluiced away the soap, the shampoo, and the evidence of their tryst.

They slid slowly to the floor in a tangle of limbs, breathing hard and clinging to each other.  His shaking hands slid up her neck to caress her cheek and then glided into her hair, gently coaxing the shampoo from it as the water fell on them from above.

Emma reached up and found Killian’s hair also full of suds.  She leisurely massaged his scalp, scratching it with her short nails and soothing it with the pads of her fingers.  He sighed under her ministrations, running his own fingers through her long tresses.

Eventually, their breathing slowed and their heartbeats returned to normal, the soap was all rinsed away, and they had no reason left to sit idly in the shower stall.  Killian reached up and screwed the valve shut, cutting off the spray.  He ran his fingers through her hair again, squeezing the strands to remove the water.  Emma returned the favor, pressing her fingers to his scalp to squeegee the moisture out, making him hum happily.

Killian sighed when they were completely out of excuses to stay in the washroom.

They stood together, slowly untangling themselves from each other until they were just gripping each other’s forearms and not touching anywhere else.  Then Emma withdrew her hands from his, using them to twist her hair to get more of the water out of it.  She felt him move away from her, and then he clicked the flashlight on, covering most of the beam with one hand.  The tiny amount of light that came through his fingers was more than enough after the blackness, and Emma met his gaze.

The skin around his eyes crinkled, not quite a smile, but definitely a positive expression.  He reached for her again, and Emma looked down, suddenly shy.  He chuffed softly, and she slowly raised her gaze, letting her eyes rove over his form from his feet, up his legs to his sated cock, across his abdomen with its trail of dark hair, across his chest covered in fur, and then the column of his neck, glistening with water from the shower, and finally to his face, where he was still watching her with something dangerously close to hope in his eyes.

A year ago, the expression would have sent her running.  A few months ago, it would have given her pause.  But in the world as it was, full of darkness and misery and pain, Emma found that she needed to enjoy the good moments.  So, she took his hand and watched the smile spread across his face, drawing one from her as well.   


	6. Chapter 6

They left their fallen clothing scattered across the main room and ascended to the loft.  Killian pulled the dusty tarp off the bed and quickly dressed it with fresh linens that had been stored in space bags in the cupboard.  Climbing between the sheets, he beckoned her, and Emma followed gladly, slipping into his arms with a sigh.  Killian sighed as well, pulling her flush against him so her back was pressed to his chest.  He nuzzled the back of her neck, lifting his head to kiss around to the edge of her jaw.  Emma rocked her hips back into his, feeling her desire rekindling.

Killian’s hand slipped down from her shoulder, his fingers ghosting across her ribs.

“Again?” he asked, his voice low and reverent.  Emma felt his cock beginning to flutter back to life against her backside.

“Yes,” she whispered, squirming, wanting to feel him against her, inside her, everywhere at once.

He groaned into her neck, his hand sliding around to cup her breast.  Emma turned her head to capture his lips, reveling in the skill with which he kissed her.  She opened herself to him, letting him slip his clever tongue between her lips to plunder her willing mouth.  She rolled her body toward his, and he rose, leaning on one arm to hover his torso over her, leaving his lower body on the bed.  His rapidly hardening cock twitched, nudging her hip, and she surged against it, taking him in hand.

He growled appreciatively when she wrapped her fingers around his semi-hard length.  She stroked him idly, letting his body respond to her in its own time.  Her own body was already willing and eager.  She could feel the wetness pooling between her thigh as she rubbed her legs together.  She hoped he’d touch her again, but he kept his hand on her breast, teasing her nipple as he kissed her hard and passionately.

She whimpered into his mouth when his cock was stiff and straining in her hand.

“Touch me,” she whispered, half demand and half plea.

He groaned into her lips, fucking her mouth with his tongue before pulling back to look at her in the meager light provided by the tiny windows.

“May I taste you?” he murmured, making her arch against him in response.

“Oh, god, yes,” she said, releasing his cock to grip his shoulders and shove him down her body.

He chuckled, his grin dangerous and self-satisfied.

He took his time in his descent, kissing his way down her jaw, nipping at her throat, and making her moan again.  Then he fell upon her breasts, sucking and gently biting each of her nipples in turn, flicking them with his tongue until they were almost painfully sensitive.  She panted and groaned, but wanted more.  He descended across her stomach, nibbling his way to her left hip, where he sucked on the skin hard enough to leave a mark, one she knew would press against the fabric of her jeans, a reminder of what lay underneath.

Emma offered no resistance when he spread her thighs, running his fingers along the sensitive flesh.  He took a deep breath and gently blew across her throbbing core, making her twitch in anticipation.  When he finally touched his mouth to her sex, she cried out, barely hearing Killian’s groan over her own voice.

He lapped at her ravenously at first, more intent on tasting her than giving pleasure.  But his motions quickly became more precise, more measured.  He fluttered his tongue over her clit, making her writhe, then he shifted his head down to fuck his tongue into her cunt.  His stubble pressed tantalizingly into her flesh, tickling and scratching as he ground his face into her to thrust his tongue as far as he could inside her. Emma moaned and threaded her fingers in his hair, holding his head tightly in place.

Finally sated of tasting her, he lifted his head to grin at her, licking his lips.  His face was covered in the sheen of her wetness, and Emma threw her head back and closed her eyes, unable to deal with the sight of him wrecked and smug between her legs.

He descended to her core again, licking and then sucking on her clit, making her cry out wordlessly, nonsensical praise spilling from her lips.  His hand joined his mouth, and he slid one long finger inside her and then two.  With each pull from her quim, he dragged her wetness down to where the pad of his thumb was gently teasing her asshole.  The sensation was unexpected and intoxicating.  She’d never let anyone touch her there before, but his expert ministrations made her feel pulled tight in anticipation.  

The unfamiliar stimulation seemed to speed her climb to ecstasy, and Emma felt her orgasm building with each rhythmic press of his thumb against her virgin back door.  He began to nudge the digit into the ring of her asshole, pressing firmly with each thrust of his other fingers into her cunt and suck of her clit.

Emma panted, writhing beneath him as he held her down with his other arm.

“Oh, god,” she groaned as she felt the first joint of his thumb pass through her sphincter.

He hummed against her sex, and she thought he might have said “that’s a good girl,” before he began to gently fuck her ass with his thumb.

“More?” he asked, pressing his thumb deeper to make sure she knew what he was offering.

“Yes,” she moaned, squirming unhappily at the absence of his mouth on her clit, “please.”

He rectified the problem immediately, biting down gently on her little bundle of nerve as he began to move his thumb faster and deeper.

Emma had never considered anal sex before, but Killian was making it seem like an appealing option.

He moved his fingers and thumb in time, fucking her cunt and ass as his tongue teased her clit closer to release.

The orgasm hit her hard and seemingly out of thin air.  She was unprepared, and she gasped out her release, bucking wildly as Killian worked her expertly through it, prolonging her pleasure until she had to stammer aloud that it was too much.

His fingers stilled instantly at her words, but he continued to lap lazily at her clit until she lay spasming before him and around him, little keening cries rising from her lips with each lick and each flutter of her sphincter around his thumb.  

She whimpered when he withdrew his fingers.

“You like that,” he said with a lazy smile, his voice cocky and raw.

“I guess I do,” she panted, making him go stiff for a second.

“That was new for you?” he asked, his eyes widening a little.

“Uh, just the… butt part,” Emma said, feeling her cheeks go redder than they already were.

His mouth opened in surprise, and then he licked his lips.

“But the way you pressed against me in the shower,” he said in a rush, “I assumed you…”

He cut off, licking his lips again.

“I’m glad I found out before I tried to properly bugger you,” he said, blinking.

“You were going to…” Emma started to say, but she trailed off in a groan, her sex clenching at the thought.

“I haven’t got any protection,” he said with a little shrug, and Emma saw color rising in his cheeks.  “It’s safer than…”

“I have an IUD,” she blurted out.  “I can’t get pregnant.”

He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow appraisingly.

“But if you wanted to…” she started, biting her lip.  “I don’t think I’d object too much…”

He groaned, his grip on her tightening.

“Oh, I want to, love,” he gushed, “but if more conventional shagging is on the menu..?”

“It is,” she said with an amused snort.

He hummed happily and climbed up to lie between her thighs, his cock brushing against her slick heat.  He let out a long breath, a cross between a sigh and a deep moan, making Emma rock up toward him.

“It’s only because it’s the end of the world,” Emma choked out, feeling suddenly shy under his intense blue gaze.  “I’m not usually this kind of girl.”

His lips quirked.

“And here I thought it was my intoxicating charisma,” he quipped, winking at her.  

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes.

“You’re all right,” she teased.

It was his turn to snort, but his was in indignation instead of amusement.

“Oh, darling, I do believe that is a  _challenge_ ,” he murmured darkly, leaning down to run the tip of his nose over her cheekbone.

Emma shivered in response to his words and tone.  She lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck.  Killian reached between them and dragged his cock across her tender, dripping core, teasing her and coating himself with her wetness.  He took his time about it, and she was whimpering when he finally pressed the head of his cock into her.  She tried to wrap her legs around him and end the torture, but he held her down and entered her slowly, pulling back and then rocking forward another centimeter.  When he was finally seated deep inside her, they were both breathing hard.  He pressed his forehead to hers.

“Emma,” he breathed, and she realized it was the first time he’d said her name.  “I am so pleased I met you.”

Emma snorted again, but the sincerity of his words made her heart flutter.

“Me too,” she whispered, hesitating just a moment before continuing, “Killian.”

He groaned and rolled his hips, making her clutch his arms in pleased surprise.  He closed his eyes and took a few breaths, and then he opened his eyes and met her gaze with a look of wide wonder.

“Emma,” he said again, stroking her cheek.  His lips descended on hers and he kissed her passionately, his mouth moving with unrestrained enthusiasm.  She responded immediately, tasting herself on him and revelling in it.

He moved his hips, beginning a slow, languid rhythm.  It surprised Emma at first, but she realized that she was probably not the only one who wanted to savor pleasant moments after the world fell apart.  Humming with desire, and intent on doing her own savoring, Emma touched him everywhere she could, sliding her heels up and down the backs of his legs, clutching his shoulders, raking his back, tracing his collar bones with her fingertips.  Killian made his appreciation known, but it seemed he wanted more.  

Gripping her thighs, he expertly rolled them over so that Emma found herself above him, her damp hair cascading around them like a golden curtain.  His cock was still buried inside her, and he used his grip on her thighs to raise and lower her on his rigid shaft.  Emma started to assist him with the motion, and Killian’s hands slide down to her knees before leaving her entirely.  He gazed up at her like she was a goddess, his eyes caressing her as intimately as his hands had.

“Touch yourself, love,” he implored.  “Let me watch you come undone.”  

Emma moaned and found herself eager to comply.  She bit her lip and slid her right hand down her belly and into her damp curls, easily finding her swollen clit and beginning to pleasure herself.  She let her left hand rise to her breasts, and she teased her nipples in turn, squeezing her breasts and putting on a show.  

“Pinch that one,” he commanded as she rolled her left nipple between her fingers.  “Harder.”

Emma’s mouth fell open in a silent sigh as she did what he told her.  Something in his voice made her want to let him make demands of her—made her want to obey.

“Good girl,” he praised.  “Bloody brilliant.”

His hands returned to her hips and he began lifting her and dropping her on his hips, using gravity to drive his thrusts.  He continued to praise and coax her in a low, insistent tone.

Emma threw her head back and lost herself in sensation.  Her fingers, his voice, his hands, and his thick cock combined to send her spiralling toward her third orgasm in less than an hour.  

“Emma,” he said, his voice reverent.  “Come for me, Emma.”

He repeated her name like a prayer, and the building pressure made her head spin.  

She cried his name as she careened over the edge, her body shaking and swaying in pleasure-induced exhaustion.

“Beautiful,” he murmured before he rolled them again, letting her fall bonelessly to the bed as he resumed his position above her.  He rolled her legs up, throwing her knees over his shoulders, and she let out a little ghost of a moan at the new angle.

He set a harder rhythm, rutting into her with abandon, their flesh making sharp slapping noises in the quiet house.  Emma panted and let out random little whimpers and moans, her body dimly protesting his new assault.  She didn’t care—she’d let him fuck her until she couldn’t walk properly if he wanted.  She loved the way it felt to submit to him.  

Above her, Killian’s breathing grew more ragged and his thrusts became uneven.  Emma found herself chanting  _yes_  and  _oh, god_  as he approached his own release.  Watching him lose his control made Emma feel even more powerful.  When his face finally contorted with exquisite agony, Emma moaned in pleasure.  His cock stuttered within her, and he shuddered as his erratic thrusts finally slowed and stopped.  

With a throaty groan, Killian released Emma’s legs and collapsed above her, rolling them gracelessly.  His cock slipped free and she felt his come trickle across her thigh as he shoved her almost roughly onto her side and pulled her back to his chest.  His possessive little growl made her lips quirk up.  

He murmured something into her hair, but his words were too slurred for her to decypher.  He shifted behind her, throwing the duvet over them before snaking his arm around her to clutch her tightly, his thumb idly massaging her in lazy circles that became slower and eventually stopped as sleep claimed Killian.

Emma sighed.  She felt warm, sore, and deliciously sated. The sound of Killian’s even breathing and the singing of the rain on the roof lulled her deeper into a state of blissful relaxation.  It felt strange—so strange—but good, and Emma knew better than to let a good moment pass her by.  She gave into the sensation, and let dreams find her in the safety of Killian’s embrace.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma awoke to the sound of rustling somewhere in the house.  She reached instinctively for her gun, but found tangled sheets instead.  She swallowed hard, trying to slow her breathing as she took in her surroundings.  She was alone and surprisingly comfortable.  She was clean, she realized, and naked—and the memories filtered back.  She ran a hand through her hair and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.  The crumpled bedding beside her was empty, but a white tee-shirt and a pair of drawstring cotton pants lay folded on the duvet.  Emma slipped into the clothing eagerly.  

She knew that the noises coming from below were probably made by Killian, but months of fear and death had ingrained new habits.  She cast about for something to use as a weapon, her eyes landing on the sturdy metal flashlight Killian had left on the bedside table.  She hefted it, giving it a test swing and a nod before silently descending the ladder-like stair from the loft.

She scanned the living room, noticing the simple, sturdy furniture and the muddy boot prints near the door.  Neither Killian’s nor Emma’s clothing lay on the floorboards, and Emma frowned, wondering how long Killian had been awake and what he’d been up to.

She padded to the bathroom, pushing the door open carefully while she held the flashlight ready to bash in the brain of any man or monster that proved hostile.

“Good morning, beautiful,” came the quiet voice from behind her, making her jump.

Emma spun around, gripping the flashlight with both hands.

Killian stood across the room from her, dressed identically to her in a simple tee-shirt and drawstring pants.  He held a kitchen towel in one hand.  He slowly raised both arms, showing Emma that he was unarmed.

“Fancy some breakfast?” he asked in a slow, careful tone, as though he were trying to calm a wild beast.

Emma let out the breath she’d been holding, her shoulders sagging a little.

“Have you checked the perimeter?” she said in a low huff.  “Are the exits clear and secure?”

“Aye,” he said, still using his mollifying tone, “everything is fine, Emma.  You can relax.  We’re in a bunker on an island, love.  But if it will make you feel better, we can go down to the bomb shelter to eat.”

He grinned, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Emma took a few more breaths before hesitantly lowering the flashlight.  She could still feel the tension in her shoulders.  How could she trust that they were really safe?

“Make your own circuit, if you like,” Killian said, seeming to read her thoughts.  “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He gave her a level look, his expression still open and just slightly concerned.  Then he make a neat about-face and strode through the archway into the only part of the small house Emma hadn’t yet seen—except for maybe the bomb shelter, if Killian hadn’t been joking about that.  

Emma closed her eyes and leaned against the bathroom door frame.  In the kitchen, Killian began singing softly to himself, letting her know where he was and that he wasn’t afraid.  She knew he was doing it to try to soothe her, but it seemed like something Graham would have done, and that set Emma’s heart constricting painfully.  She retreated into the bathroom and closed the door.

She switched on the flashlight to illuminate the pitch-black room before remembering that the house should have power.  She flicked the light switch and the lamp above the mirror clicked into life, shedding soft white light.  Emma turned off the flashlight and set about using the facilities, trying to calm herself with the luxury and dream-like familiarity of a simple morning routine.  

When she exited the bathroom, her face was freshly scrubbed and her hair had damp trails in it from where she’d combed through it with her fingers.  She couldn’t help but take the flashlight with her, but she made sure to turn off the bathroom light.

Halfway across the living room, she caught a whiff of sizzling bacon.  With a groan of longing, she padded across the wooden floor and into the matchbook kitchen.  She scanned the room out of reflex, taking in the tiny table and two chairs squeezed against the left wall, the pantry, dorm fridge, sink, and two-burner electric range under a microwave oven.  Killian took up most of the right half of the room, doing a shuffling little dance as he stepped this way and that, finding, using, and putting away ingredients and utensils.  He had a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder and was still singing softly (something by INXS, she thought) as he scrambled eggs—eggs!—and tended to a skillet full of popping, sizzling bacon.  

He noticed her when she entered and grinned at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to the food.  He kept singing.  It was definitely INXS:  _Need You Tonight_.  Emma rolled her eyes, but she had to admit he had a good voice.

The table was already set, complete with silverware, salt and pepper, and a little dish of butter.  Emma just shook her head.  She could almost believe she was dreaming.

“What’s with all the perishables?” Emma asked.

“None of it is fresh,” Killian said, glancing at her again before giving the pan of eggs a quick stir.  “Everything is frozen, freeze-dried, powdered, or canned, I’m afraid.”

“Still…” Emma said, impressed.  She pulled out one of the two wooden chairs and sat down at the table.

“I took liberties,” Killian said.  “Liam would hardly approve, but, well, it’s not as though anyone else is going to eat it.”

“Liam..?  Your brother,” Emma said, answering her own question.

“Aye,” he said.  “God rest his soul.”

He transferred the eggs and bacon on to a large plate to use as a serving dish and pulled another plate from the microwave, this one piled high with pancakes, complete with fat blueberries.

“Oh, god,” Emma said, her mouth watering at the sight of the food.

Killian grinned at her and set the plates in the middle of the small table.

“Ah, I forgot the syrup.  Just a mo,” he said, he turned his eyes to Emma and gave her an appraising look.  “Promise you’ll wait for me?”

She snorted.

He grinned and made another about-face, giving Emma an excellent view of his backside in the thin cotton pants.  He crossed to the pantry and opened the door.  He looked at her over his shoulder again before he pulled up a cleverly concealed panel in the floorboards of the pantry.  He set the panel aside and then entered a code into another fancy electric lock.  Something clicked, and Killian pulled up what looked like a submarine door and began to descend into whatever space there was below.  When he was waist deep, he turned to look at her yet again, raising an eyebrow and making an “I’ve got my eye on you” gesture, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then twisting his hand to point one finger at her.

Emma laughed and purposefully picked up a piece of bacon and brought it to her lips.

“Minx,” Killian accused, then he dropped out of sight.

Emma grinned again before taking a bite, letting out an indecent groan at the salty, smoky, taste.  She chewed the bite slowly, savoring the crispy, chewy texture and the delightfully decadent greasiness of it.

About a half minute later, a glass bottle of maple syrup appeared on the floor near the hatch, and then Killian climbed up after it, leaving the portal open as he snatched up the syrup and stalked over to Emma.

“I asked you to wait,” he said in mock-anger, his eyes gleaming dangerously but his lips quirked into a smile.

“Yeah, I made no promises,” Emma said, taking another bite of bacon.

Killian grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand toward him, dipping his head.  He kept his eyes locked on hers as he pulled the half-eaten piece of bacon from her grasp with his teeth.  He chewed and swallowed it quickly, maintaining eye contact, and then he slowly sucked the bacon grease off of her fingers.  Emma’s mouth fell open in shocked arousal.

Killian nipped the pad of her longest finger before releasing her and sliding into the chair opposite her.  He began dishing out food to each of their plates as if nothing had happened.

“I hope you don’t mind blueberries,” he said in an innocent, conversational tone.  “I saw them in the freezer and couldn’t resist.”

His eyes flicked up mischievously on the last word.

“I don’t mind,” Emma said, “though I am curious about what exactly you have down there.”

She gestured toward the hatch with her head.

“I’ll give you the tour after breakfast,” Killian said, spearing a forkful of eggs.

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence, only punctuated by the odd sigh of pleasure or crunch of crispy bacon.  They finished everything, even though there had been enough food for at least four people.  

With a satisfied groan, Emma dragged her fingers through the streaks of syrup on her plate and lazily sucked them clean.  When she looked up, Killian was watching her, his adam’s apple bobbing and the muscle in his jaw twitching wildly.  He cleared his throat and then cleared the table, dumping the dishes into the sink.  When he turned around, he offered her his hand.   

“My lady,” he intoned, “I believe I owe you a tour.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow but took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.  Two steps later, they were standing over the hatch that descended into darkness.

“Would you like to go first?” he asked.

“Yeah, no,” she replied.  “After you.”

Killian grinned and mounted the ladder of metal rungs.  Like her, he was barefoot, and his feet made no sound as he climbed down.  A moment later, a dim light ignited below, and she saw Killian looking up at her, beckoning.

The rungs were cold under Emma’s fingers and toes, and she was glad when her feet landed in plush carpet.  

Looking around, Emma felt like she was in some kind of futuristic spaceship designed by Hobbits.  The walls were all curved, as were the doorways leading out of the rather comfortable-looking living room she’d landed in.

“This is… different,” Emma said.  “Is this all custom-built?”

“No, pre-fab,” Killian said.  “Modular design.  Liam chose what he wanted out of a catalog and had it all delivered and assembled.  He just had to dig out the space for it.”

He walked over to one of the sloping, white-painted walls.

“Solid steel, watertight,” Killian recited, shaking his head.  “He had the wrong apocalypse in mind, but you can’t say Liam wasn’t prepared…”

“Wow,” was all Emma could think to say.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll show you the rest.”

The bunker was composed of four cylindrical pod-like rooms that sprouted off from the main living area.  One housed bunk beds and clothing items, a second contained the kitchen and bathroom, and the other two were completely filled with food, bottled drinking water, fuel, weapons, and other supplies.  

“You could live down here for—” Emma began.

“Years,” Killian finished, “aye.”

“And this is all solar and rain powered?” Emma asked.

“No,” he said.  “Well, it is currently, but there are generators and batteries.  It’s set up to be made airtight in case of ‘inhospitable climate’ above ground.  The valves are open, now, so outside air, water, and power can come in.”  

“Wow,” Emma said again.  “And you don’t mind parting with supplies?”

Killian rolled his shoulders and scratched behind his ear.

“My brother is dead and no one else knows this place exists,” he said, “unless you want to stay here with me..?”

Emma’s eyes went wide and she felt her heart stutter.   _Henry_.

“Right,” he said in a heavy voice, looking away.  Emma saw the shadow fall across his features.  “Then there’s no reason to worry about leaving anything behind.”

He let out a sigh before speaking again, this time seeming to be talking mostly to himself:  “Getting it to the boat will be an adventure…”

“Killian,” she started, but she didn’t know what to say.

“Now then,” he said, all false cheer and forced smiles.  “I bet you’d like your own clothing back… Though I can’t complain about the view with what you’re wearing.  I imagine you’d prefer your own.  There are clothing items here, but I’m not sure of what will fit you.  You’re welcome to look through—”

“Killian,” she said again, interrupting his babble.

He finally met her eyes, and she saw the hurt there, far deeper than any cut she could have made in the day and a half she’d known him.

“Thank you,” she said, dipping her head a little but maintaining eye contact.

“Aye,” he said, shrugging away her gratitude.  “We’ve got a lot to do…”

He retreated into a shield of chatter, but Emma could hear the difference in his tone.  Her words had helped, and that would have to be enough for now.

.

They spent the rest of the day inventorying and then moving supplies from the underground shelter up to the house.  There was no way they could take all of it on the boat, so Emma selected for lighter-weight and more nutrient-dense foods to make room for a selection of weapons, ammo, and fuel.  

Gasoline was essential, since it powered the boat, but it took up so much room, especially since Killian had convinced Emma to try to sail to Storybrooke instead of going overland.  She couldn’t help but see his logic—there were no walkers on the open water—but she still stared longingly at the rows of freeze-dried spaghetti and canned fruits.  She couldn’t help but take a few of Henry’s favorite items, even if they weren’t as efficient as other things.    

When they stopped for lunch, Emma’s arms were aching.  Killian had been passing canisters and jugs up to her through the hatch for the better part of two hours.  While he poked around below and brought things to the ladder, Emma arranged their chosen cargo into neat stacks near the door.  

Emma was sitting cross-legged near the hatch when Killian, to signal it was time for a break, passed up a carton of neapolitan ice cream to Emma with a saucy grin.  

“Oh, heaven,” Emma said, humming happily.  Then she scoffed.  “No caffeine or alcohol, but your brother stored ice cream?”

Killian hoisted himself up out of the hatch and pulled a pair of spoons from a drawer near the sink without rising to his feet.

“You make no mention of his buried bunker on a private island,” Killian said, “but you deride him for his dietary choices?”  

“Yeah, I do,” Emma said, taking the offered spoon.  “Thanks.”

Killian sat down quite near her on the floor, neither of them willing to put in the effort to bother with chairs or tables.  Emma peeled the lid off the carton and let out a delighted groan at the sight of the brown, pale yellow, and disturbing pink confection.

“Where shall we begin?”  Killian asked her, hovering his spoon over one flavor and then another.  He gave her a conspiratorial grin, like they were discussing something elicit.

Emma bit her lip for a moment, trying to decide.

“Surprise me,” she finally declared, closing her eyes and folding her hands in her lap.  She almost missed his sharp intake of breath.  

A moment later, she heard his spoon scraping along the edge of the carton.

“Open up,” he said in a low, sexy voice.

Emma immediately opened her mouth, a shiver of anticipation making her mouth water.  She felt the chill of the spoon a second before the metal touched her tongue, and she closed her lips around the bite of creamy confection, sucking the delicacy off the spoon.  The flavors exploded in her mouth, sweet and rich.  She swirled the melting cream in her mouth, finding a frozen chunk of strawberry mixed with the vanilla.  She let out a little moan of delight, savoring the decadent treat.

When she opened her eyes, Killian was watching her with naked lust in his eyes.  A quick glance at the ice cream carton told her that he’d been watching her instead of taking his own bites.

“Your turn,” she said, bowing her head to study the ice cream.  She knew she was blushing, and she needed an excuse for him not to look at her for a moment. When she glanced up through her lashes, his eyes were closed.

She took a moment to study him.  She couldn’t deny he was handsome, even with his hauntingly gorgeous eyes closed.  Feeling heat rising through her, she quickly scooped out a section of chocolate and vanilla ice cream and brought it to his lips.  He seemed to feel the cold, as she had, and he opened his mouth without her having to say anything.  

He sucked the confection from the spoon and swirled it around his mouth as she had, giving a little moan of pleasure that made Emma want to touch him.  

She restrained herself, instead stealing a bite of plain vanilla from the carton and putting it in her own mouth with a happy sigh.

“Are you cheating at your own game, love?” he said, drawing her eyes back to him.  He arched an eyebrow, his intoxicatingly blue eyes open and fixed on her.  

“I made no promises,” she quipped, repeating her words from breakfast.

“No, you haven’t,” he said, his tone far more serious that Emma was willing to deal with just then.

To shut him up, she offered him a bite of strawberry with a semi-forced smile.  He took it from her, scooping out a section of vanilla that she thought he was going to feed to her, but he swerved the spoon to his own mouth at the last second, making her gasp in amused shock.

They fought over the vanilla for the next few minutes, each occasionally dipping into the other two flavors, but always returning to the golden section of the carton. Eventually they were left with a runny, half-melted mess in the bottom of the container, before the pink and brown sections collapsed into the middle.  

“Don’t suppose this is worth salvaging,” Killian mused, poking the carton with a wistful frown.

“Not with the vanilla gone,” Emma replied, making Killian snort in amusement.  He grinned at her for a moment before rising smoothly to his feet and depositing the carton in the sink.

They passed the afternoon in much the saw way they’d passed the morning, and they chose more perishable delicacies for their supper.  

When they finally climbed up to the loft and dropped into bed, Emma was exhausted.  And yet she couldn’t deny the magnetic pull of the man lying next to her (she dimly realized they could have slept on separate bunks down in the fallout shelter, but neither of them had mentioned it).  As they fumbled with the sheets in the darkness, he made no demands; in fact, he hadn’t touched her after the incident with the bacon at breakfast, even during lunch or dinner.  But when she rolled toward him in the safety of shadows and pressed her body to his, he responded at once.   

He took her languidly, savoring each caress and sigh, and he gave her pleasure twice before taking his own.  They murmured impossible promises to each other, phrases only speakable in the throes of passion and the sanctuary of night.  Words they both knew would be conveniently and pointedly forgotten when the sun once again warmed their skin.

Emma clung to him, desperate and frail, letting herself be vulnerable and weak—things the hellish world seemed intent on destroying.  Killian crumbled into her as much as she did him, and together they collapsed, giving strength and taking comfort from each other with every touch and whisper.

When finally they were both replete and sated, they curled around each other, so close their heartbeats seemed to intermix, as if they were each only half of a greater being.


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning, they ate another illicit breakfast of Liam’s carefully hoarded perishables.  Then they began the arduous task of hauling things to the boat.  They made a litter out of sturdy tarps and broom handles.  Loaded up, it was heavy and ungainly, but they were able to move at a reasonable rate across the island.  Killian led, one broom on each shoulder, both stretching back to land on Emma’s shoulders.

The transfer took the better part of the day.  With the weight distributed as it was, the work wasn’t exhausting, just tedious.  They were both grateful to be back in the little house when they finished in the mid-afternoon.  Killian got the little oven preheated and thrust a frozen lasagna into it, setting a timer for an hour.  

“How shall we pass the time?” Killian mused, taking a moment to stretch his shoulders.      

“I have an idea,” Emma blurted out, feeling her cheeks go pink.  He cocked an eyebrow as he waited for her to finish her thought.  She took a breath and closed her eyes before speaking in a rush: “Could we take another shower?”

She heard his startled exhale and opened her eyes to see a lazy smile overtaking his face.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he purred as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

They stripped frantically, Emma nearly tripping on her pants as she tried to remove them before unlacing her boots.  Killian cursed colorfully as his shirt got caught in the zipper of his jeans and he had to rip the fabric to get it free.  Laughing, Emma made it to the bathroom first, opening the valve to let the barely-warm water cascade down her back and shoulders.  She moaned at the sensation, her eyes closed.  She heard Killian join her, and she moaned again when his fingers found her, hot hands cupping her breasts as he pressed his lips to the side of her neck and bit down gently.  She grabbed his cock brazenly, delighted to find it already stiff and eager.  Emma considered dropping to her knees under the spray of water and taking his thick length in her mouth, but there was something else she needed more.  

She let go of him and spun in his arms, as she had during their first shower, thrusting her ass against him.  He groaned appreciatively and gripped her hips before sliding his hands back up to her breasts.  She reached behind her to grip him again, trying to line him up.

“So eager,” he murmured against her neck before biting down gently on her flesh.

“I need—” she panted, cutting off, unsure exactly what she might have said.  She took a few breaths, trying to focus.

“Anything,” he swore, covering her fingers on his shaft with his own and nudging the head of his cock along her swollen flesh.  He pressed ever so slightly into her, and she thrust back sharply, rising to her toes to take more of him in.  

They moaned in unison and then he grabbed her hips and surged forward, burying himself inside her and grinding deep, crossing the line between pleasure and delicious pain.

Emma cried out and pushed back even harder, revelling in the burning tightness that meant she was alive, so alive in a fucked-up world of death and misery.

Killian seemed to understand her need, and he pulled out slowly before slamming hard back into her.  He kept up the punishing rhythm for quite a while, his fingers tight on her hips.  Emma braced herself against the tiles, her feet slipping with the violence of their fucking.  She let out unrestrained moans, her voice echoing off the walls.  So much time in the new, horror-filled world was spent silent.  It felt amazing to vocalize her pleasure.  Killian reciprocated, his grunts and groans encouraging her until Emma was so brazen—so wanton, she decided to cross an invisible line.  

“I want—oh!—I want to try the other thing,” she gasped, her voice broken and desperate.

“Other thing?” Killian rasped, slowing his thrusts a little.

Even at the end of the world, Emma couldn’t make herself say it.

“The… The thing you thought I..?” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks tingle in embarrassment.

“The thing..? Oh.   _Oh_ ,” he said, his voice transforming from confusion to surprise to lust.  He let out a little groan and thrust into her hard, making her gasp.

“This seems like the right place for it,” Emma said breathlessly, trying to play off her nervousness.  She wanted it, regardless of her uncertainty.  Too much in life was uncertain.  Fragile, pleasurable moments had to be seized when they arose.    

“I suppose it is,” Killian murmured, nuzzling her neck before thrusting hard into her again.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said immediately, her voice leaving her lips in a desperate moan.

He grunted in reply, fucking into her once more before withdrawing and using his fingers to drag some of her generous wetness to her backside.  A shiver of wicked anticipation shot down Emma’s spine.  She needed this, she realized, this life-affirming taste of the taboo.  She wanted to savor something she’d never have tried before the world ended—something she’d thought of as messy and unnecessary before.  

Killian gently massaged her asshole with his thumb, warming her up.  She knew he was trying to be a gentleman, but Emma huffed impatiently.

“Just do it,” she whined.  “I’ll tap out if it’s too much.  Just  _take_  me.  I want… I need…”

Emma took a deep breath.  There was a moment of freefall where all she could hear was the running water.  Killian’s fingers had gone still and he seemed to be holding his breath, too.  The moment spread out, making Emma self-conscious, so she pushed backward again, trying to spur him on.  Killian let out a ragged breath and resumed caressing her posterior.  He pressed his thumb into her not quite gently, making her gasp.

“You want me to ravage you like I’m some sort of pirate, love?” he said, his tone clearly trying for lightness, but shaking too much to get there.  He sounded just as wrecked as she felt.

“Yes,” Emma moaned, something in the words “ravage” and “pirate” making her quiver in anticipation.  She threw her head back and rolled her hips.

He groaned, and she heard him inhale shakily again.

“As you wish,” he growled, his grip on her hip tightening sharply.

His thumb disappeared from her backside and something much larger nudged her, pressing firmly.  She pushed back, writhing in eager expectation.  She felt so delightfully  _wicked_.  She closed her eyes and let her mouth fall open as she waited for him to move.

Killian rocked forward, inching inside her with shallow, quick thrusts that left her panting.  When he finally bottomed out, Emma felt lightheaded at the intrusion.  His cock stretched her in ways she’d never imagined.  It was painful, but not unbearably so, and the thrill of knowing she was about to be  _fucked in the ass_  made her crave whatever sensations went along with the act.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked, concern coloring his voice.

Emma realized she’d been holding her breath, and she let it out in a huff.

“Shut up,” she gasped.  “Fuck me.”

He growled again, his hips jerking against her, making her cry out.  She whined, the intrusion of his cock making her feel helpless and powerful at the same time.  She knew without a doubt that he would stop if she gave the slightest indication, and yet he also had all the power to control their illicit union.  

He pulled back slowly and then rocked forward, making Emma moan.  She felt herself contracting around him, her body unfamiliar with this particular act.  Part of her protested the sensations, but she also reveled in them.  Emma squirmed, rocking against Killian in time with his thrusts, panting and keening.  He let out restrained little grunts, and she could feel the tension in his body.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded.  “Make yourself come while I bugger you.”

Emma moaned at the authority in his voice and obediently slipped the fingers of her right hand between her slick folds.  She found her clit and began drawing frantic circles around it.  Touching herself while he moved within her, Emma felt almost like they were having regular intercourse.  Only the mild protest of her body at his presence marred the erotic pleasure.  She let out a wrecked hum of carnal bliss.

Quite suddenly, Killian sucked hard on Emma’s neck, and she knew it would leave a mark.  She cried out loudly at the sensation, rolling her hips to let him know she wanted the domination he was offering.  Killian eagerly responded, pulling back before slamming back into her ass and grinding hard into her.  Emma didn’t even try to control the sounds that ripped from her mouth with each punishing thrust.  Killian was almost as loud, grunting and gasping behind her as he fucked her.  He brought his hands up to her breasts again and pinched her nipples, twisting and pulling the sensitive peaks.  

Emma whimpered, unsure how she was supposed to endure the myriad of sensations that threatened to override her system.  Dimly, she realized his motions had become erratic—he was close, but he was trying to make her come before he did.

Emma sped up her fingers on her clit and shoved her hips back sharply.

“ _Harder_ ,” she demanded.  

She relished the way he shivered at the sound of her voice.  He let out another growl and complied with her needs, applying her word  _everywhere_.  He sucked harshly on her neck as he pinched her nipples cruelly.  His hips slammed into her buttocks, forcing his massive cock even deeper into her ass.

It was too much.  It was perfect.  It was  _not enough_.  

Emma needed the pain as much as the pleasure.  She needed the contrast and the desperate paradox of it.  She needed to feel  _alive_ , and alive meant having _it all._

Stars appeared in Emma’s vision, even behind closed eyes.  Her panting breath sped up until her keening cries were so airy, she thought she’d pass out from hyperventilation.

She began chanting the word “yes,” letting Killian know that she was rising, flying.  Icarus trying to touch the sun.

Killian grunted and began to speak in a gravelly tone.  Emma couldn’t make out anything other than the rasp of his voice against her skin.  The gruff tone of his words affected her almost as much as his touch.

With a whimper, Emma teetered on the edge of release, gasping as she felt the heat of the sun begin to melt her wings.  She was weightless, hanging in that perfect moment before tumbling to the sea, falling apart as all her wax melted and her feathers blew away on the breeze.  As she crashed to the waves below, Emma knew she screamed, but Killian was vocalizing with her, his cock stuttering violently in her spasming ass as he found his own release and filled her with his hot seed.

When she came back into focus, Emma’s fingers and toes felt numb and far away.  Her knees gave out entirely and she fell forward, sliding down the tiles.  Killian followed her, his cock staying buried in her ass as they sank together to the floor, his chest pressing roughly against her back.  

His palms slapped against the tiles as he caught his weight to keep from crushing her.  He slipped one arm around her and pulled her back so that she was leaning against him as he reclined against the tiles.  His cock softened and slipped out of her ass, making Emma shudder and cry out.  His grip on her tightened, and he pressed his lips to her ear.

“Are you all right, lass?” he whispered, his voice colored with concern.  “Emma?”

“Yeah,” she breathed shakily, letting her head fall back against his shoulder, “I’m okay.”

He let out a sigh of apparent relief, his grip on her slackening slightly.

"Good," he said emphatically.

“We should probably…” she mumbled, letting her words trail off.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied simply, but she could hear the slight tinge of wistfulness.

Emma awkwardly climbed to her feet, wincing.  Her knees were weak and she was definitely sore.  She reached for the shampoo, but he caught her fingers.  He was already on his feet—the man could move so quietly!  

“Let me?” he said softly, his words rising to form a question.

“Okay,” she whispered back.  She stuck her head under the spray of water while he lathered his hands.  When his fingers slipped into her hair, she couldn’t suppress the blissful moan that escaped her lips.

He took his time, massaging her scalp and tenderly caressing every lock of her hair.  When he was done, she returned the favor, making him groan in pleasure.  She slipped her soapy hands down his body, washing him very thoroughly as he did the same for her.  When she lathered his cock, she felt it stir against her hand.  She gasped in surprise.

“Already?” she asked incredulously.

“You are particularly enticing, love,” he murmured.  “You bring me to life.”

He said the words half in jest, but Emma felt the weight of them in her bones.  She knew exactly what he meant.  She’d barely met the man a few days ago, but he made her feel so vibrant.

Emma made no reply, but she continued to carefully wash his hardening member as she thought about his words.  Killian’s breathing sped up, but he made no move to discourage her and his hands on her skin became frantic.  When he was fully erect (and cleaner than she imagined he’d been in months), she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.

“Oh,  _fuck_ , Emma,” he swore, one hand landing lightly on her head.   

Emma grinned around his cock before bobbing forward.  She loved the way he reacted to her.  It made her feel important and powerful.  She knew that getting attached to the man was a misguided idea, but enjoying him while he was in her life couldn’t be bad.  Shoving aside doubts and focusing on the moment, Emma wrapped the fingers of her right hand around his shaft and cupped his balls with her left.  She took her time, exploring him as he’d done with her, relishing the way he gasped and shuddered at her touch.  She teased him, flicking the underside of his cock with her tongue for a minute before surging forward to take him deep into her throat.

He made desperate, choked noises and groaned frequently.  His shaking hands threaded in her hair and left her to slap against the tiles, grasping at nothing.  He barely moved his hips, clearly trying to give her control, but they stuttered against her occasionally, especially when she took him deep.

He did manage to close the valve, stopping the flow of water.  Emma supposed that was best, since it was surely close to empty.  They’d been in the shower for quite some time. Without the sound of the spray, Killian’s moans seemed louder, filling the room, punctuated by the sloppy sounds of Emma’s fellation.  

Emma knew he was getting close when his knees began to shake and his hands tightened in her hair.  He panted her name between bouts of nonsensical praise and colorful cursing, and then his words became indistinct except for her name, which sounded like a prayer.

He stammered out a warning before he came, but Emma had no intention of pulling back.  She drank his orgasm greedily, fluttering her tongue against him as he filled her mouth with hot come.

She continued to lick and suck on him until he gently pushed her away with a whimper that came out an octave higher than his usual voice.  Emma grinned up at him as she swallowed.

“Need a minute?” she teased.

He slid down the tiles to sit on his ass, his legs splaying out on either side of her.

“Need to return the favor,” he murmured, reaching for her.  

She leaned back, laughing.

“No, you don’t,” she said.  “There isn’t a quid pro quo here.”

“I want to return the favor?” he said, grinning.

“Fair enough,” Emma said.  “Not here?”

“Are you asking me to take you to bed, lass?” Killian lilted, his voice dripping with sin.  He caressed Emma’s shoulder.

“Who said anything about the bed?” Emma retorted, standing up.  She grinned at Killian and fled the bathroom, her bare feet pattering on the wooden floor.  

Killian swore under his breath and Emma heard him climb to his feet to pursue.

He caught her in the living room, and she squealed as they collapsed to the sofa.  Emma’s laughter quickly turned to cries of pleasure that echoed through the house.


End file.
